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He’s happy to see us even before he notices the barrel full of money in Noah’s hands.
“You’re kiddin’ me!” he says with a howling laugh after we tell him he won the bet. “I can’t even carry that thing!”
Later, we’ll help him put the money in an envelope and get him safely to his car with it, but we thought it was only right to present his winnings in the barrel first, for comedic value.
“What made you cast your bet for us?” I ask, expecting him to shrug and say he’s just an optimist.
He winks. “Oh, I’m a watcher. In my line of work, I see what a lot of people don’t, and you two…” He shakes his head and smiles like he’s delighted. “It was only a matter of time.”
Epilogue
Tonight’s a big night. We’re hosting Kristen and Melissa at Noah’s house for dinner. We’ve been back from Rome for three months and I’ve seen them on my own plenty of times, but Noah hasn’t been invited. That’s mostly my doing. I wanted to make sure my friends had time to adjust to his new role in my life. No, no, he’s not horrible. He’s great. We like him now. See?
I’ve planned the day down to its most finite details. I have every beverage option imaginable: tea, wine, coffee, beer, Crystal Light. I have Noah grilling out back. He’s making chicken, steak, and shrimp. For sides, we have mashed potatoes, roasted corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese, and salad.
Noah’s house is sparkling clean. There’re fresh towels in the guest bathroom, flowers on the kitchen counter, and little candies in a dish on the coffee table—Melissa’s favorite.
The doorbell rings and I panic.
“Noah! They’re here!”
At the end of the night, I’ll look back on my behavior and laugh, but right now, I’m too entrenched in the moment to realize my enthusiasm is seeping out of my every pore. I open the front door with a flourish and welcome my friends into Noah’s house like I’m the concierge at the Ritz Carlton in charge of looking after a bona fide celebrity. Let me get your coat. Let me get you a drink. The bathroom is right here. Did you find the toilet paper to be soft enough? I can find you something better if you need it. A moist towelette?
Instead of letting them make introductions naturally, I shove Noah toward them like he’s a Ken doll I purchased at Target that day. Look at him! Tall and funny! And he cooks! Noah, tell them about the curry you made the other night. C’mon, don’t be shy. Tell them.
While they’re sitting in the living room sipping their wine, I hover over them with the open bottle, ready to top them off at a moment’s notice.
Noah comes over and tugs on my arm, asking if I wouldn’t mind helping him in the other room for a minute.
“Can it wait?”
I hate to leave my friends. They might take his short disappearance as a snub. They’ll assume the worst.
“It’ll only take a second,” he promises, then he half-drags me from the room.
We go to our bedroom and he shuts the door.
His hands grip my shoulders and then he bends low so we’re eye to eye. For the first time all evening, I register his warm brown eyes, his levelheaded stare, his easygoing smile.
“You have got to cool it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your friends like me. And if they don’t, that’s fine too, but—”
My eyes widen in horror. “No. Not possible. We’ll get them to try your steak. No one can resist your steak.”
I try to turn and open the door, but he holds my shoulders steady.
“Audrey, you’re freaking out.”
“I’m freaking out,” I repeat, finally realizing it.
“Why? It’s just dinner.”
“It’s really important to me. My best friends are meeting my boyfriend.”
Noah and I haven’t said we love you to each other. I love him, point-blank. I’ve loved him since I found that printed reading list stuffed in his book back in Italy. And even though we haven’t said the words yet—haven’t spelled it out loud and clear—we’ve conveyed our feelings for each other a million different ways. When I’m having a particularly sleepy morning and can’t seem to manage to pry my eyes open, Noah makes my coffee and brings it to me right in bed so the aroma tempts me out from beneath the covers. If I happen to be out and about and pass his favorite ice cream shop, I always stop in to pick up a pint to-go. Over dinner, Noah catches up on reality TV with me even though I know it’s not his thing. When we order Chinese takeout and they give us an odd number of crab puffs, I always let Noah have the extra one. I mean, jeez, that’s basically on par with getting his name tattooed on my lower back, you know what I mean? These are crab puffs we’re talking about!
